Chapter 12 Kellan
Kellan
I wake up fully refreshed, more rested than I've been in weeks. My body feels loose and relaxed, the tension that's been living in my shoulders finally gone. Then I remember what happened last night and shame crashes over me, followed by embarrassment that makes my stomach turn.
Micah didn't even know what he was signing.
Tom trapped him in a contract with fine print and manipulation, and instead of being furious about it, I brought him back here and dropped to my knees for him.
Took him in my mouth and made him fall apart, swallowed him down like I was starving for it.
And I was. In that moment, with Micah's hand in my hair and his taste on my tongue, it felt like everything I needed.
But now, lying in my bed alone with morning light filtering through the blinds, I wonder how awkward this is going to be.
How do you face someone the morning after you blow them when the whole relationship is supposed to be fake?
When there are contracts and PR requirements and a predetermined end date?
I grab my phone from the nightstand, not surprised to see the band group chat exploded overnight. Dozens of messages, all of them wondering what's going on and where I disappeared to after the show.
Rex: Dude where did you go?
Liam: Tom said you left with that Beta. Everything okay?
Jordan: The one from the accident? Holy shit Kellan
Rex: KELLAN ANSWER YOUR PHONE
Liam: He's probably busy
Jordan: Gross
I type out a quick response. Can't talk now. Will explain later.
Three dots appear immediately as someone starts typing, but I lock my phone and set it face down. I don't have the energy to explain this mess to them right now. Don't have the words to articulate what I'm feeling when I barely understand it myself.
I force myself out of bed, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor. My apartment is quiet, that early morning stillness that usually helps me think. I need to figure out what to say to Micah, how to navigate this situation without making things worse.
I move into the living room, trying to keep my wits about me.
The space looks different in daylight, less chaotic than it felt last night when I was scrambling to pick up dirty clothes and hide evidence of my messy life.
The morning sun streams through the windows, making dust motes dance in the air.
I head into the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks.
Micah is already there, standing at my coffee maker like he belongs in this space.
He's dressed in one of my old band shirts and the largest pair of sweatpants I could find last night, though they're still a little snug on his frame.
A piece of toast hangs from his lips as he pours coffee into two mugs.
"Good morning," Micah says around the toast, sliding a plate across the counter toward me. There are two more pieces of toast on it, perfectly golden brown.
He looks comfortable. Relaxed. Not at all awkward or ashamed like I feel. "I fixed the squeak on that cabinet." Micah gestures to one of the upper cabinets with his coffee mug. "The one by the fridge. Just needed the hinge tightened."
The words come out before I can stop them. "You know you don’t have to actually do anything because this relationship is fake, right?"
Micah stops mid-sip, coffee mug halfway to his lips. His expression doesn't change but something shifts in his eyes.
I didn't mean to be so harsh. Didn't mean to throw reality in his face first thing in the morning.
But all night my thoughts bounced between wanting to continue where we left off and terror that in just three or four short weeks, the label would demand a public breakup.
That what feels real right now will be packaged and sold and ultimately destroyed for the sake of album sales.
"Fuck, sorry," I say quickly. "I just meant—"
Micah grins, and it's almost mischievous.
"Says the guy who went down on me last night.
Sure, it's all fake." He takes another bite of toast. "Also, I don't have to be a dick while I'm here.
Fixing stuff makes me feel useful. Better than sitting around uselessly like I have been for the past month. "
His gaze drops to my torso, appreciation clear in his eyes as they track across my bare chest. I sleep shirtless and didn't bother grabbing a shirt before coming out here. His look lingers just a moment too long before snapping back to my face.
I brush it off, trying to focus. I move to the fridge and grab a Dr Pepper, cracking it open and chugging half the can in one go. The carbonation burns my throat but the caffeine and sugar hit my system immediately.
"That's not breakfast." Micah's tone is somewhere between amused and judgmental.
"I usually eat something when I get to practice." I hold up the Dr Pepper can. "Breakfast of champions?"
Micah snorts. "I'll be just fine with my coffee, thank you."
Mild laughter fills the space between us, the tension from my earlier comment easing.
I find myself staring at Micah's lips as he takes another sip of coffee, leaning back against the kitchen counter.
The movement is casual, comfortable. He looks good in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, drinking coffee he made in my space.
I watch his throat work as he swallows. The Beta fills out my old shirt better than I ever did, his shoulders broad and his chest solid. The fabric hugs his thighs, showing off toned muscles that he probably worked really hard for. Years of construction work evident in every line of his body.
I clear my throat, trying to clear my thoughts. This is dangerous territory. Getting attached to someone who's contractually obligated to be here, who signed papers without understanding what he was agreeing to.
A rude knock pounds on the front door and my eyes widen.
Fuck. I should have realized when I didn't have any morning messages from Tom that he'd just show up unannounced.
That's what he does. Barges into my life whenever it suits him because he has keys to this place and considers me more property than person.
"Fuck, hey Micah, I forgot to mention—"
My words get cut off as the door flies open.
Tom bursts in, already loud and talking before he's even fully inside.
"Good morning! Hope everyone's decent." Tom's voice carries through the apartment.
"We've got a big day ahead of us. Photos for social media, a lunch date at that new place downtown, then an appearance at the label's event next week.
Micah, you'll need new clothes. We can't have you photographed in whatever you wore to the concert. "
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I look at Micah, about to apologize for Tom's intrusion, and see that same sheepish, overwhelmed look on his face from last night in the office.
But it's more than that. Micah's shoulders have tensed, his jaw tight.
His breathing has changed, coming faster and shallower.
Tom's presence makes him uncomfortable in a way that goes beyond normal stranger anxiety.
I furrow my brows, studying Micah's reaction. Then I fix my face before Tom catches on that anything is wrong. Tom never notices anything unless it affects him directly, but I don't want to give him any ammunition.
Tom takes a seat at one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter and reaches for a piece of toast from the plate Micah made.
"Micah, pour me a cup, would you? You're already good for Kellan here.
Coffee and toast, like a normal person's breakfast." He takes a bite of the toast, chewing thoughtfully.
"Just remember that in a few weeks, this little house service isn't going to be a thing. Enjoy it while it lasts, Kellan."
Micah frowns but grabs Tom a cup anyway. His movements are stiff now, mechanical. The easy comfort from moments ago is completely gone.
Tom launches into more questions without waiting for a response, pulling out that dreaded tablet and tapping away at the screen.
"So, Micah. Let's get some basics down. Favorite food?
Favorite color? Hobbies besides construction?
Any allergies I need to know about? Previous relationships that might come up in background checks? "
Micah's breathing comes faster. His good hand grips the counter edge, knuckles white. Something is very wrong but I can't figure out what.
"Tom, we'll figure it out." I step forward, trying to redirect his attention. "We have the contract and I'll walk Micah through it. Can you leave us alone so we can figure all this shit out?"
"Alone?" Tom looks up from his tablet, surprised. "Kellan, this is important. We need to establish a baseline, create a believable narrative. The photos go up today and people will have questions."
"And we'll answer them." I keep my voice firm. "But right now I need you to leave so Micah and I can have a conversation without an audience. We just woke up, Tom. Give us a minute to breathe."
Tom studies me, clearly trying to decide if this is worth fighting over. Finally, he stands. "Make sure you get this right, Kellan. There's a lot riding on this. Album sales, public perception, your image rehabilitation. Don't fuck it up because you want privacy."
He grabs the mug of coffee Micah poured, not asking permission, and heads for the door. "I'll expect you at practice soon. Don’t keep the others waiting.”
I wait until the front door closes behind him, listening for his footsteps to fade down the hallway. Then I turn to Micah.
He's visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping and jaw unclenching. The tension bleeds out of him the second Tom is gone, replaced by the easy comfort from before.
"What was that?" I ask, genuinely confused. "Why do you seem so uncomfortable around him? We all kind of hate Tom but you..." I trail off, trying to find the right words. "It's different with you. More intense."